


Falling

by emilyevanston



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Healing, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 19:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16248758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyevanston/pseuds/emilyevanston
Summary: Bucky Barnes dreams about falling all the time.  He sometimes just wishes he’d hit the ground already.Written for a Hamilton Challenge with the prompt:I imagine death so much it feels more like  a memoryWhen’s it gonna get me?





	Falling

He remembered them all.  Every single life that had been snuffed out using his body.  Every single unachieved potential.  Every single family he tore apart.  Every father that didn’t make it home from their business trips.  Every woman who had dared to cross the wrong person.  Every child who just happened to be in the wrong place or the wrong family.  He couldn’t forget them.  He didn’t want to forget them.  They were his to carry with him.

Of the long list of deaths he remembered, his own was the one that he remembered best.  Back in HYDRA, it played on a loop.  Falling.  He was always falling.  The sight of Steve reaching for him always getting smaller and smaller but never disappearing completely.  He always hoped that he’d hit the ground.  If he hit the ground, maybe this time he would die.  In his death, the deaths would end.

He never hit the ground.  Not then and not since he escaped them.  To begin with, he had still hoped that he would.  Living with what he’d done, what they’d used him to do, was more than he could carry.  If he could just hit the ground he wouldn’t have to be crushed by the guilt he felt.

He never landed.  So instead he had to live.  He worked to be strong enough to carry the weight of the dead.  He worked to make amends as best he could.  He worked to just be able to live a life.

Slowly, very slowly, he started to fear landing.  He still carried the weight of the people he’d killed.  He just became better at carrying it.  He started seeing things to live for.  The colors started became gradually brighter.  Food began to taste better.  It wasn’t overnight, and it took work.  He made the effort.  As he did the work he began to realize there were things to live for.  Helping out at homeless shelters.  Working on his plot in the community garden.  Going to the dog shelter and walking dogs.

Then one day it was you.

Since he met you the memories of all the death felt like a promise.   Like a ticking clock counting down to the time everything he’d worked for got taken away from him.  The Sword of Damocles hanging over his head.  It was all death.  How long before it was his turn too?

He woke with a gasp.  A sheen of sweat coated his skin and his heart was hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears.  You woke beside him, sitting up and leaning against him.   “You live to fight another day.”  You whispered, rubbing his back.

He clutched at his chest, his metal fingers digging into his muscle.  You gently coaxed them away and held them against you.  “God.  I feel like I’m getting closer and closer.  I keep imagining hitting the ground and it just being over.”  He said as he breathed harsh and ragged.  “And what’s worse is, this is a memory.  This isn’t just some random falling dream everyone has.  It happened.”

“I know.”  You whispered.  “But you’re here.  You’re safe.”

He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck.  Your hands felt cool on his flushed skin as you caressed his back.

“When you fell from the train.  You did hit the ground.”  You said softly.

“And I died.  I died and the brought me back as a passenger in my body.  I was dead for over sixty years.”  Bucky said, not wanting to look up at you and risk seeing pity in your eyes.

“Then after you died.  You kept reliving it.  Until you decided to live.”  You said.

“Not until.  Not until.  Still.  I still revisit it.”  He said finally looking up at you.  There was no pity in your eyes though.  They just seemed thoughtful as you tried to reason this out.  “When I hit the ground I’ll die and this time it will be for good.”

You caressed the back of his neck and he relaxed under your fingers. “You still carry it.  Maybe that’s what’s pulling you down.  We all die, Bucky.  That’s not the important part.  The important part is living.  Maybe if you stop carrying it with you, you won’t fall?”

“I can’t.  I can’t let them go.  I don’t deserve to be free of that.”  Bucky whispered.

Your arms tightened around him, drawing your bodies closer together.  “Then I’ll carry it with you.  You won’t hit the ground while I’m there to catch you.”

Bucky looked into your eyes, searching for the but.  The part where there is a condition on the statement.  All he could see was love.  Not pity.  Not dismissiveness.  Not conditional.  Just love and while he didn’t feel worthy of it, the appreciation he felt overwhelmed him.  He lunged forward, his mouth crashing into yours.  You matched his need, your hand running up his scalp and bunching in his hair.

He leaned you back into the bed, rolling his hips against yours.  His cock hardening in his boxers.  You moaned into his lips spreading your legs and pulling him as tight to you as you could.  He wanted you.  Needed you.  His hands roamed your body and he kissed along your jaw to your neck.  Sucking and biting at your throat as his hand slipped between your legs and teased over your pussy.  You ran a hand down his spine and slipped it into his boxers gripping his ass.

“Need you.”  He whispered as his cock pressed against your cunt and his fingers slid up and down our folds, your wetness slicking his fingers.

“I’m right here.”  You whispered against his ear.

He pushed his boxers down and lined his cock up to your entrance before sinking in.  The sound of you moan and the way your cunt, warm and wet, clenched around his cock sent a shiver up his spine.  He took a moment to feel the way your body adjusted to taking him and he started to thrust.

He gave himself to the moment.  To you.  Letting his mind clear and just exist in that time and space with you.  The sounds you made.  The way your hands ran over him, tugged on his hair.  The feel of his cock being squeezed as he moved within you.  Each thrust slow and deep bringing you each that step closer to the edge.

“Oh god.  God.  Bucky.”  You mewled as your body arched up under him.  Your cunt fluttered and clenched before your whole body seized up and you clawed at the sheets.  

“Fuck.  Doll.”  He growled.  His balls tightened and with a snap of his hips, he released, his cock pulsing inside you.

He rolled you both so you were wrapped in his arms.  “I love you, Bucky.”  You whispered.  “I have you.  Time to live.”

Bucky hummed pressing his lips to your head.  “I love you too.”  He replied.  He knew that he would always carry those deaths with him, but maybe with you, he could stop worrying about the fall.


End file.
